


I Was There (But Where Were You?)

by Angels_Blade_Demons_Knife_1402



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Arranged Marriage, Castiel and Dean Winchester Grow Up Together, Emotional Hurt, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Gabriel is a Good Friend, Homophobia, I'm Bad At Tagging, IT'S NOT ALL DEPRESSING I SWEAR, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Protective Gabriel, castiel fucks up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2019-02-07 11:59:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12840699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angels_Blade_Demons_Knife_1402/pseuds/Angels_Blade_Demons_Knife_1402
Summary: ***ON HOLD; WILL NOT BE UPDATED***Fifteen years ago, the Novaks moved next door to the Winchester's farm. Ten years ago, Dean found out what it felt like to be in love with someone. And five years ago, he found out what it felt like to have his center of gravity ripped from him, to be left broken and bleeding by the one person who was never supposed to do it to him.But now he gets a phone call from Gabriel that changes everything. Cain Novak has died, and with him goes the shadow everyone has lived under. With his death comes a revisit from Castiel, and Dean's not sure he can make it out alive.





	1. Chapter 1

The call comes in at five thirty in the morning. Dean's half awake, barely even that, and and his croaked ' _hello_?' is muffled by the pillow he's got shoved against his face. He's never been much of a morning person, least of all at an ungodly hour like this, and this whole time difference thing between where he's living and Gabriel's place is a kick in the face most days but -

"Hey, Dean," Gabriel says, and his voice alone has Dean's eyes snapping open. It's low, stretched thin, emotionless; a tone he has never once used in the fifteen years they've known each other. _Wong, wrong, wrong._ Something's not right. Dean sits up, ignoring the alarm bells ringing in the back of his mind that are putting him on high alert. He rubs his eyes, tries to think through the sleep-fog in his brain. "I know it's early where you're at. Sorry. I - I just..." _I just need help_ , is what Dean hears. After knowing him so long, he hears what's not said more than what's actually spoken. 

"No, no, it's fine," the Winchester replies. "What's up, Gabe? You good?" His voice is rough, but careful. _Nothing's_ good if the Novak is calling like this, not in this bad of shape. It's never happened before. Not even when Kali broke him, and that says something. "Something happen with Mario Kart again?"

Usually, this is where he'll snort, give a sarcastic reply about how he hasn't _played video games in years, thank you very much Dean-o._ And yet, instead, Gabriel just huffs, a hollow, empty sound. "Not exactly,. It's...It's Cain, Dean. He's dead." Dean tries to process that, tries to find a good reply, and whether it's because it's so early in the morning or because those are words he used to pray to hear, he can't; not appropriately, anyway. He's always hated Cain with a hellfire passion, and to hear that the fucker has finally kicked the dust is a welcome relief. He doesn't have much time to celebrate, though - Gabriel is still talking, "He's been complaining of having issues lately, and then tonight, he made Michael take him to the hospital. It was a heart attack. They couldn't - they couldn't save him."

 _Shit_. "What can I do?" Dean asks, and glances at clock. Close enough to time to get up. He flips back the blankets, stands and stretches. His body gives a string of protesting pops and cracks and he winces. "You need anything?"

"Just - I don't know. I...Dean,  _I don't know._ " Gabriel sounds absolutely fucking _lost_ now, his voice cracking, finally getting some kind of emotion leaked into it, like it's starting to kick in what kind of things have to happen when someone dies. "I - we have to plan the _funeral_ , and figure out what to do with everything he had and all the siblings are coming to _reunite under our losses_ or some shit. I'm not going to have a leg to stand on since I've pretty much been the black sheep and abandoned everyone up till recently; it's gonna be a complete _shitfest_."

Dean hesitates. His brain is working a mile a minute, going through possibilities and timing. He's sure Rufus would give him the time off from the mechanic shop; knows Gabriel will need the support after being surrounded by a clusterfuck of pompous, silver-spoon-fed, holier-than-thou siblings who have always looked down their noses at him. Remembers who it was that stood by his side while he was a complete wreck. Remembers that it was Gabriel that pieced him back together after falling apart. "I'll book a flight out there."

"It's - you don't have to - it's a Novak funeral...He's going to be here, too." Gabriel doesn't say his name; doesn't have to. But Dean, once again, is hearing the words that aren't being said.   _I'm fucking scared,_ and _please help me_ and _please give me something to lean on._ Gabriel is never one to ask for help - never has been, never will be, because he's been told no too many times to feel like anyone will actually lend a hand. But Dean knows who it was at his side when it mattered, and like _hell_ is he going to let him go through this alone _._

"I'll be there," He says firmly, promises really, and tries hard to feel like he hasn't just signed his own damn death sentence. It's been five years - well enough time that things have settled and the anger has mostly dulled, but even now, he's starting to tremble just thinking about him. The man who has single-handedly ruined him once. He's finally put himself back together, moved on for the most part. Can sleep without blue eyes haunting him, can listen to some old music favorites and not want to crunch the tapes in his fist. 

"Dean..." Gabriel's hesitant, and he understands why. "I don't -"

" _I'll be there_ ," Dean repeats, and this time, there's no room for argument. He gentles his tone. "Let me help you, Gabe. Please."

"...Alright." A pause. "Thank you," and a click to tell him that the Novak has hung up. Not exactly unheard of for him; it's never easy showing gratitude for Gabriel. Dean sighs and starts toward the hall to go make some coffee. This is going to take some planning.

*~*~*~*~*

The Novak family moved next door when Dean was fifteen. It's hard to remember what life was like before them, to remember that there was a time where Dean didn't have him to talk to.

( _When someone comes into your life and stays long enough, you end up forgetting that they're not a permanent fixture there._

_And God knows how lethal of a mistake that is.)_

*~*~*~*~*

Dean can still remember the day they met. 

_John sitting in his chair, a mug of coffee gliding rhythmically from table to mouth and back again, a paper in his hand, both boys in some degree of eating and/or fixing their breakfast._

_"Someone's moved into Higgins' old house," Sammy had announced, all of eleven years old, scooping another spoonful of Cheerios into his mouth. He'd still been all limbs, gangly like a newborn colt._

_Dean was rummaging in the fridge, but he poked his head out to ask, "who is it?"_

_"Dunno. Think one of them is a preacher, though. They had the white collar thing on when I saw them."_

_John, who had never engaged very much before at least two cups of coffee, hummed over the rim of his mug. " You guys can go introduce yourselves after breakfast. Take them a basket of muffins or something."_

_Dean froze, mouth opening in protest. "But Uncle Bobby was going to give me another riding lesson after -"_

_His dad's brown eyes lifted from the paper and narrowed at him. "This isn't a debate, Dean. You can go riding after you get back. It's not up for discussion. Do you understand me?"_

_His shoulders slumped and he looked at the floor. "Yessir."_

*~*~*~*~*

 _They didn't have muffin mix. Honestly, they didn't have much of anything when it came to baking. That was always Mom's thing and that - well, that ended when she died. Which meant Dean had to take Sammy to the store and go buy muffin mix and eggs, and a_ muffin tin _, for crap's sake, and a basket, and God this was so stupid. Doing this when he could be riding with Uncle Bobby or cleaning stalls with Rufus - hell, even watching Aunt Ellen give lessons was better than this._

_But the thing is, when John Winchester gives an order, there isn't another option. You do as told. Akmple as that. So, they made apple-cinnamon muffins and they put them into a basket and they walked across the field and knocked on the front door of the house._

_The boy that opened the door was about Dean's height, with blonde hair and hazel eyes. He looked a few years older than Dean. "Can I help you?" He asked, and popped his hip out to lean on the door frame, crossing his arms lazily. He reminded the older Winchester of a lion sunbathing, despite the baggy sweatshirt and worn out jeans._

_"Uh. Yeah, this is my brother Sammy, and I'm Dean. We live at the stables next door. Our dad said to introduce ourselves." Dean shifted back and forth on his feet, put himself a bit further in front of Sam and in between him and the stranfer in the door. "Here." He handed him the basket of muffins._

_The boy in front of them fought a smile, lips twitching as he peaked under the piece of cloth covering the treats. "You actually baked these?"_

_Dean wiped at his nose and sniffed, folding his arms across his chest defensively. "Well,_ yeah _."_

_"Huh. Well, thanks, kid. Name's Gabriel, by the way. You wanna come in?"_

_"Ah - we can't, actually, I've got chores and -"_ and I'm wasting time that I could riding, _is what he wanted to say, but then Sam -_

_"Aw, come on, Dean!"_

_Gabriel's lip quirked; hazel eyes danced with taunting mirth. "Yeah,_ come on, _Dean-o. Wouldn't kill you to come meet everyone. After all, you did come over to introduce yourselves, didn't you?"_

_Dean sighed. "Yeah, alright."_

_*~*~*~*~*_

_The Novak family, he learned, was_ expansive _. Cain, the big burly man with ice-blue eyes and a graying beard, was the head of the family. A preacher, just as Sam had said._

_There was Gabriel, and Raphael, a taller, slightly older sibling with cold blue eyes and dark skin. And Michael, who claimed the tilte of eldest, with black hair and freckled face. Luke was blonde and had a sadistic attitude, eyes green-blue and dangerous. Anna had red hair and seemed a bit spaced out as she she sketched, curled into a side of the couch._

_And then there were cousins, as Gabriel explained, that would be in and out of the house rather regularly. Inias and Samandriel  and Balthazar, for example, who really lived with either Uncle Metatron or Uncle Zachariah._

_"Oh, and then there's Cassie!" Gabriel said, snapping his fingers as he pulled out a red lollipop from his sweater pocket. "He's probably upstairs reading or something. Come on, I'll take you up."_

_They travelled up the stairs - at which point Dean wondered how this much house could possibly fit in such a small frame - and Gabriel knocked on one of the doors. "Hey, Cassie, open up. We got visitors."_

_There was a shuffle, grumbling, and then the door swung open. "Its not Cassie, it's Castiel," the boy said. Black hair and blue eyes - he looked almost identical to Michael and his gaze was startlingly ferocious as he narrowed eyes at Dean. "Who're you?"_

_"Dean Winchester. This is my brother Sammy. We live at the stables next door." He was getting really tired of repeating himself. How many people here had heard this same line already?_ Hint: all of them.

_"Aw, come on, Cas. Be nice, little brother," Gabriel scolded around his lollipop. Dean could hardly hold back a snort, and he sighed, patience ran thin from being paraded around a stranger's house._

_"Look, I really appreciate you introducing all of us, Gabriel, but I have chores to get back to at the barn, and Sammy here has books to read before school starts back up. You guys can come visit anytime though. It was nice meeting you, Castiel." Dean nodded at the boy, clapped a hand on his younger brother's shoulders, and turned to go home._

_"Wait."_

_Dean turned, surprised at the lack of hostility in Cas' voice. His blue eyes were wide and interested, lip half-bitten between his teeth. He paused, then asked, "What kind of animals do you have?"_

_Like he wanted to know, but expected to be told to mind his own business. The Winchester recognized the type. He grinned._

_"Come over when you have a minute. I'll show them to you."_

_Castiel gave a hesitant, small smile. One that looked like it was going to flee with the wind at any given moment. "Okay."_

Maybe he's not so bad, _Dean thought_.

*~*~*~*~*

"Look, Rufus, I just need a couple days off, maybe a week. I need to - it's hard to explain." Dean scratches the back of his head. All these years and it's still hard to get a good reading on the old man. 

Rufus sits back in his office chair, steeples his fingers across the desk. "Uh-huh." His coffee eyes look unimpressed. "I heard about the Novak death. This wouldn't have anything to do with that, would it?"

Dean licks his lips and ducks his head. "It might. Gabriel called this morning and needs some support. You know his family sucks with that. And it'll be a good chance to see everyone again, prove I've gotten better since..." he trails off with a grimace. _That_ time period is not his proudest. He knows Rufus understands; the old man's gaze softens just a fraction.

" You sure that's a good idea?" He asks, an undercurrent of warning in his tone. "I ain't comin' to your rescue again, boy."

The Winchester flinches. That's a low blow and the man knows it. "I'm not asking you to!" He snaps. "That's not - Rufus, man, come on. I've been sober for three years. I'm not falling back off the wagon; I'm going for moral support and to see family. That's all."

Rufus studies him for a moment, lips pursed. " Do what you need to do, Dean, but come back whole." He turns back to his paperwork. The conversation is clearly over.

"Thanks," Dean tells him  and gets a grunt as reply. He scoots out of his chair and exits the mechanic's office. It isn't exactly the speech he thought he'd get, but given the circumstances and those two years he can't erase, well...he'll take what he can get. 

There's only one thing left to do now. He pulls out his phone and flips through the contacts. Stares at the number for a minute. Takes a deep breath, dials. 

Last time he saw his brother, Sam was twenty-three. Long-limbed and muscular, taller than him with a head of hair that would make some rockstars cry. He'd been in college at the time - Stanford Law School. 

The phone rings. Once. Twice. Three times.

"Sam Winchester speaking."

He smiles, feels emotion choke him at the base of his throat. "Hey, Sammy."

A pause. A breath. 

_"Dean??"_

*~*~*~*~*


	2. Chapter 2

Dean stares at his closet for a good fifteen minutes. He should be packing, given that the plane leaves later today - but that phone call, Jesus, that was _heavy_. And _awkward_. As great as it had felt to hear his brother's voice - and it _was_ great, knowing Sam was doing amazing and he hadn't spun off the edge of the earth while he wasn't there - three years meant changes, meant difficulties, meant craters between them that weren't there before. Dean couldn't get a good read on him anymore, and that didn't show very well until he asked if Sam had a couch Dean could crash on. Sam had made a noise in the back of his throat, high and awkward and shifted the phone around.

 _Of course you can stay with us, Dean, but I just - I mean -_ Sam fumbled. _We can pull out the couch and set that up for you, no big deal, but - we have Bones still, and a new cat named Ruby, you know, she's really moody and doesn't like anyone but me right now, and I know you're allergic and surely there's somewhere else -_

If Dean woud've given it a second, he would have understood what Sam wasn't saying aloud. No one wants an estranged older brother crashing the joint. Especially around the girlfriend he's never met before.  _Fiance_. Espeically given the condition he was in when they last saw each other. But that's the thing that got him, he wasn't reading Sam right anymore like he used to, wasn't picking up on cues the way he could before; so he just brushed past that. _Aw, Sammy, its okay, I'll just use my old room, no big deal.  No cats, no dogs, it'll be great man!_ And he'd laughed, loud and a little too forced, because he felt wrong-footed, confused - he knew _something_ was off; just wasn't sure exactly _what_. He ulsed to know Sam like the back of his hand and yet, now there's bits and pieces he recognizes, but there's so much more he doesn't. 

 _Dean, there_ is _no second room_ , Sam had told him, quiet and level and Dean felt his stomach tighten, face pinch with confusion, laugh stuck half-way halted in his throat. 

 _Well, sure there is. You're at the farm right? Since Dad left it to you, I mean_. (Dean will never admit what a kick to the face that had been. He'd never admit that there was a lot of hostility toward John after learning that he wasn't getting anything to do with the stable, even after Dean stuck around to help with the bills and the work after the younger Winchester went to college. He would never say anything about this, and he's sure that very few - if anyone at all - knows about it, but that particular knife is still between his shoulder blades, rusted and stuck there.)

A pause. A breath. _Yeah, about that..._ Sam hesitated, and the blonde tensed. _Listen, that house, um...I haven't done anything with it since you left._

Dean froze. _You what? Sam, what does that mean?_

 _Well, I've been busy with college and I had finals and_ \- A sigh, sharp and quick. _I've been keeping up the bills and stuff, but um...it's pretty much empty. I was actually thinking of selling it in a year or so. I can't do anything with it right now, and it's just sitting there. I closed the barn, I mean we have boarding and stuff, but there's no lessons, and no one's really...well._ Sam blew out a breath. He waited a beat. Quietly, he said, _I never wanted that place Dean. And it's a huge hassle to deal with._

And wasn't _that_ a heavy topic to get into.

Dean blinks, eyes refocusing on the clothes hanging up. He wants to be angry. Wants to tell Sam off for all of it, for letting their home just sit _stagnant_ because it's a fucking _hassle_. For tossing it away because he _never wanted it;_ for taking what Dean had dreamed of having since he was a kid and _wasting_ it. To not have been touched in three years, at least; to have been shut down and and shut up...Jesus, he almost wants to throw his fist into a wall.

But he's been working on this, on controlling his anger, on not lashing out. So instead of being angry, he took a breath, counted backwards from thirty, said, _well, I'll just stay out there for my visit then, no big deal,_ and then let it drop. Well, tried to, at least.

Sam's quiet _Dean.._ had made his hands clench into fists for a solid twenty seconds before he relaxed and moved on. 

  _It's fine, Sam. Really. Don't worry about it. You had school to worry about. I get it._

His brother, understandably, had been really confused that he let it go so easily. After all, before, Dean would have hung on to the argument, held it between locked teeth like a bulldog, would have dug his heels in and _fought_ until he won. 

But that was before. 

Dean takes a breath and stutters back into motion, pulling clothes down from hangers and folding them putting them in the worn out duffle bag on his bed. He's not sure exactly how long he's staying, but he knows it's at least a week and he knows he can always do laundry. Halfway through  something occurs to him as he looks at his band t shirts and regular jeans. 

_What the hell do you wear to a Novak funeral?_

_*~*~*~*~*_

_Everyone who witnessed Dean and Castiel's friendship swore up and down it shouldn't have worked. And yet, somehow, it did._

_Dean never gave a damn about people's opinions about him. As he grew older, his eyes turned hard, his jaw set with sharp angles and a tilt of determination. He grew corded muscles from cleaning stalls and riding horses; stayed lean but continued building strength. Dean was, in all the wrong ways, a soldier in battle. A stable boy, a grease monkey, a rebel, a bad influence in Society's eyes. Nothing more. He grew a cynic, a critic._

_Castiel grew with a softness to him. Words were blades, words were flowers picked from fields; they cut and hurt or gave him emotions he wasn't supposed to acknowledge. He followed the Bible with a head bowed and shoulders squared with the weight of expection sitting on them. He ached with the craving of freedom, but would never act on it. He found the beauty in paint smears on canvas, the fun in being a solitary creature, the  There was something to enjoy in every situation._

_They were complete and total opposites, right down to the bone. But maybe that was why they worked so well._

_*~*~*~*~*_

_They were friends for two years before Dean started having feelings that weren't strictly platonic for Cas, and it all started with stupid yellow paint._

_Cas was always artistic; he'd had a knack for art before Dean ever met him. As he came to know Cas more, the Winchester learned that_ _he always had a sketchbook in his backpack, a canvas half-coated in acrylic paint drying in his room, charcoal smears on elbows, hands, even his face._

_Part of the Novaks moving was the agreement that Castiel had gotten to claim a shed in the backyard of his house for his art. Gabriel helped him with it;  souped it up with multiple lights and racks for paints, shelves for pencils, charcoal, brushes, even a sink he could rinse things out in. And on this particular day, Castiel had been in his shed for a week. Minimum breaks, Dean had been told, except for collecting food no one could confirm was actually being eaten and using the bathroom. Maybe sleep, too, but Gabriel hadn't seen him enough to confirm._

_"He's doing it again," he said on the phone. "Can you please go talk reason to him before he paints himself to insanity? Even Dad is starting to notice and he's not happy about it."_

_So, at two-thirty the next day, Dean had walked over with 2 sandwiches - one of which was cut in triangles with 4 slices of ham, two slices of tomato, one piece of lettuce, and salt and pepper the way Cas likes - and a bottle of Apple juice and a coke. Trudged into the shed and blinked at the lights._

_"Cas, dude, how are you not fucking blind yet?" He asked, because four lamps were on and none of which had any types of shades on them. "Did you...did you take off the tops of the lamps again?"_

_Cas grunted and started at his canvas with a frown. "The lighting was off. I couldn't - I couldn't get it right."_

_"Uh-huh. Okay, Franken-paint. Come on, I brought food. Your brother sent me to make you human again, swan princess." Dean grabbed his shoulders and zteered him away. Castiel made a high pitched sound in the back of his throat and shrugged him off._

_" Dean, I'm painting! Quit it!" He snapped and Dean raised an eyebrow._

_"Dude, Cas, buddy, have you even slept lately? Look at yourself man!" Ripped, holey t-shirt splattered with paint, pants creased and wrinkled and spotted with mystery stains, eyes red and sleep-bruised. He looked like a zombie. "Look_ _," he continued when his friend just waved a hand and sniffed. "Just eat lunch and come take a nap, man. I know you're in a block. This will help."_

_Cas growled. Honest to god, growled. "Not hungry. Need to finish. And it's not a block, it's just a - Dean!!!" He yelled. Dean had hoisted him over his shoulder, hands on his hips to steady him, his bag of food on the other shoulder. "Put me down, you assbutt!"_

_"You gonna turn human for a bit if I do, or am I gonna have to carry you to your room like this and force feed you?" Dean asked. "Cause I will if I have to, and you know it."_

_"I am in the middle of a project and you are interrupting!" Castiel squirmed and Dean shrugged. Moved to leave with the Novak still over his shoulder. And then -_

_Cold. Thick. Slippery. All down the back of his head, glopping down his back, shirt and skin both coated. Dean froze, hands tightening on his sides, fingers pressing into his back slightly. "Cas," he said, very, very carefully. "Tell me that's not paint. You did_ not _just pour paint on me. On my_ brand new _Metallica shirt. On my_ head _."_

_Stonily, the boy droned, "Oops."_

_Dean put him down, met his cold burning gaze and pretended not to see the twitching lip. "You asshole." He still held Castiel's sides, and released one of them to reach past him amd dunk his hand in a open can of yellow paint. Grinning he swipes his hand across his cheek, creating a thick sunshine smear on one side of his face._

_Castiel stilled._

_And then he pounced._

_Somehow, it ended up with Dean pinning Cas the floor, knees at either side of his hips, one hand  firmly cuffing his two wrists above hid head to keep him from getting up, the other holding another container of paint threateningly above him, both of them giggling breathlessly._

_Dean, in that sudden instant, realized that Cas had never been more... Free? Attractive? Bold? Something, thab that moment with yellow paint in his hair and dripping down his face, eyes bright, bright blue, lips pulled back a wide grin and showing teeth in laughter, struggling to talk past his giggles._

_That day was the first time Dean wanted to kiss him. To bend till their noses touched, capture his lips. It was the first, and certainly not the last; the urge knocked him almost breathless._

**(4 Years Later:**

**"I think that's probably the day I started falling in love with you," Dean said one night when in bed with him, arm curl** **ed around Castiel's waist, laughing softly as he nosed gently at his hair.**

**"Really?"**

**"Mm-hm. I've been in love with you for a few years now, Cas."**

**There was no answer; not in words. But when Castiel turned his head back and reached, puling Dean's head down, and kissed him, sweet and slow and soft, full of affection, with lips curled into a small smile, there's no need for them.)**

*~*~*~*~*

 Dean _hates_ flying. He hates it with a fucking _passion_. Hates it with a spinning intensity that never stops. The turbulence, the stomach-drop that always happens when the plane tilts down to land, the nosy flight attendant that always manages to look down their nose at him. 

Yeah, he hates flying. He crams his ear buds into his ears, blasts Metallica as loud as he can stand it, focuses on the music as much as he can. He still tenses and claws his fingers into the seat at any type of turbulence; still flinches when the plane dips at all. But overall, he makes it through and almost kisses the ground when he lands for his layover. 

He dials Gabriel once he gets a tray of food and has sat down. 

"Hey Dean," the Novak says. He sounds a little better than last time they talked, a little more human and a little less robotic. "Did you make it halfway?"

"Yeah, thank fucking _God_. I swear I'm driving back even if it kills me. Flying _sucks_." He shoves the last bite of his hamburger into his mouth, says around it, "how are you holding up, anyway?"

"You know me, Dean-o. I'm always _fantastic_!" Sarcasm, the Winchester remembers, is Gabriel's first defense. There's a sigh on the other end of the line. Quieter, he admits, "I don't know. It's..hard seeing my family like this. All of these people, Dean - everyone is here except a few and you _know_ how big my family is - and my house is practically dead silent. Or they're playing Happy religious Family, and spouting all this crap about what Dad would have wanted. It's complete insantity."

"I'll be there in a few hours, just hang in there 'till then. Someone will say something when I walk in, they always loved doing that." Dean sips his Coke and wishes desperately that he could do more for his friend. "I'm staying at the farm if you wanna come bunk with me instead of staying there with them."

Gabriel pauses; he can hear the hesitation. The hold of breath there. The careful way he says, "I didn't know Sam still had it."

"He won't for much longer." Dean sighs. "I talked to him earlier today. He's selling it in the next year. Or planning to, at least." He rubs his mouth with a napkin, wads it up and throws it on the empty tray. "Which is _bullshit_ , if you ask me, but." He shrugs. "Not my house. Not my choice." There's an undercurrent of bitterness there he can't be bothered to fight down. 

Its quiet on the phone, neither of them speaking as Dean watches the people with their luggage, rushing from point A to point B. They both know they're on the same page with that subject. Because even if Dean had let it drop with Sam, that doesn't mean he was okay with it. Getting forfeited everything because John blamed him for Mary's death, because Sam was the favorite, had been a really hard pill to swallow. 

Finally, he asks, "Is he there yet?"

"Nah, he's coming later tonight. We could probably avoid seeing him if we time it right."

Dean snorts. "I'm not playing hide and seek with your brother, Gabe. I told you I'm coming - whether he's there or not. I don't give a damn. I'm there for _you_ , man. Not him."

"Its not _your_ behavior I'm worried about, Dean-o. Cassie's not the same person he was five years ago. I don't know what to expect from him when he sees you," his friend tells him. "You're better off than before. I don't want to lie and say the same goes for him; it doesn't."

Dean hums, ignores the twitch he gives at the name. "He made the choice."

"I know."

*~*~*~*~*

**(And 9 years after that day in the Art Shack:**

**Gabriel found him in the closet, head held in hands, crouched in the corner. His eyes were red, nose was snotty. Tear tracks down his face. Gaze focused on a metal can, sunshine colored splatters on the cap.**

**"Dean-o, talk to me," the Novak said.**

**"Fucking _yellow paint_ , man," he replied, clogged with tears in his throat. "I fucking  _hate_  yellow paint.")**


	3. Chapter 3

The thing was, Dean mused, angry drunk and bitter after 3 weeks of silence, it wouldn't be so bad if he and Castiel hadn't had to  _fight_  to have their relationship in the first place. He'd have understood a tiny bit more,  _maybe_ , if it'd been a cake-walk like most people's relationships; like one of those  _stupid_  apple pie life ones where they meet freshmen year and end up married to their high school sweetheart with two kids and a dog and a white picket fence and in-laws that  _actually_   _loved_   _them_.  

But it  _wasn't;_ they  _didn't_ , and every step they took together was a battle and a half, soldiers taking every inch of the field they fought on with relief, and it  _burned_  something righteous that Castiel could throw it all away for a man who didn't give a damn whether he lived or died. Dean was angry, so very much so that he lashed out at anyone and everyone. Jo prodded him if he was okay and he snarled at her like a wounded dog ready to fight for his life. Ellen told him he was slipping to a place he didn't want to be, and

Dean picked threw a beer bottle at the wall and told her to  _fuck off; she wasn't his mom and she could mind her own damn business, he was fine so stop bugging him already._    
He was a rubber band stretched too tight, snapping back from too much tension pulling him apart. He was a dog who was bruised and bleeding and wanted to lick his wounds in privacy; to step too close meant a snarl, a snap, teeth crunching on bone or claws going to for the throat; a viscous offense was his best defense and he showed it eagerly. 

_Dean, you're ruining yourself._

_Come on, we can get you help. You just have to try, Dean. Please._

_He doesn't deserve your pain, Winchester. Remember? He made a choice._

_Please don't do this. Not you._

_You're just like John when you're like this. I won't bury another Winchester._

_Just like John._

_Just like John._

At some point, the thing he'd sworn to never be suddenly became what he saw in the mirror. He threw himself into working, a job at the Roadhouse, shifts at the garage, some other job he couldn't be bothered to remember, days cleaning stalls and riding horses; when he wasn't working, he was drinking, and when he wasn't doing any of that, he was having one-night stands with random pick ups or sleeping. A cycle, never-ending and vicious, spinning and burning, faster and faster until he finally burnt himself out.

After, he picked up his pieces, one by one, and fixed them all. But it had it's costs.

  
Recovery always does.

_Just like John._  
_I know, I know._

*~*~*~*~*~* 

Being back in town after five years is a little like talking to Sam after three - there's a lot he recognizes, but just enough that he doesn't. He feels like a ghost walking through this town. The memories alone threaten to sweep him under when he walks into the Roadhouse, and he swallows down the nest of emotions he's got digging at his throat long enough to grin cockily at the woman with her back to him.

"Got any whiskey?" He asks, and his voice is hoarse and there's a ball of air tucked up under his ribs and he feels like he might pass out, feeling light on his feet like he's filled with helium and got his feet nailed to the ground simultaneously. It's a hell of a feeling; one he really hates. He swallows tight again, watches the woman freeze and slowly put the glass she'd been drying on the counter before turning around. 

"That ain't a funny way to say hello, boy," she drawls, and Dean flinches reflexively, smirk dripping off his face and replaced with discomfort. "Didn't think I'd be seeing your ugly mug around here again."

"Uh. Hi, Ellen?" He offers, "I - I know it's been a while. Sorry, that was a bad joke." 

She nods, puts a hand on her hip. "I take it you don't drink anymore?" She turns back around, her other hand clenching on the counter and head tilting back like she's blinking back stinging in her eyes before she reaches for a glass again and fills it with soda, and Dean feels his spine tighten with shame. Stupid idea to come back around here after all he's done.  _Stupid_ , Winchester. 

"Nah. Been sober for three years. I'm in town for a while, thought I'd drop in, tell you I'm still alive, since..."

Her knuckles turn white and the Winchester feels like swallowing his tongue. This conversation has land mines with hair triggers, and he's stepping on all of them. Ellen turns back around, and her eyes are slightly glassy like she's fighting back tears, and there's the guilt all over again when she slides him his drink. He takes a cautious sip, startled at the carbonation. Dr. Pepper, he thinks. All he's done to these people, what made him think he'd be welcome back? He swallows. "Look, I know...I know I screwed up, back then. I'm sorry, I really am. I never meant -" He stops. Thinks his words over mulling and pulling them over themselves like taffy. "I know what I said, and I know it hurt. I'm sorry." Because this, right now, not just spewing things to fix it but actually acknowledging his mistakes, it's one of the things he's been working on. "I shouldn't have said any of it."

She studies him for a minute. "John Winchester didn't do apologies," she states. His breath catches in his throat.  _Just like John_ ; it'd been Ellen to say it first, to cut the deepest. "I'm glad to hear I was wrong. Come on, I'm sure you're hungry." And that's it. Dean's still uneasy, tilted, unsteady; the memories keep catching up with him and it makes him  _ache_. But this is good. It helps when Jo tackles him in a hug, and it's good to feel Ash clap him on the shoulder and nod in respect. "Good to see you again, Winchester _,"_  he says, and Dean grins. 

 _Good to be back,_  he thinks, and for the first time since he moved away, he's feeling a little like he's home.

*~*~*~*~*~*

_After Dean had his revelation that feelings for Castiel were not strictly platonic, he tried hard to come up with excuses to avoid going to the Novak household for any reason. Sick, tired, headache, homework, he pulled out his entire deck to try to avoid the head of the house, not wanting to hear yet another homophobic speech at dinner. But after a month and a half, Castiel started looking like a kicked kitten in the rain, and Dean resigned himself to resuming his weekly visits._

_It wasn't his fault his father was a douchebag, after all. And Cas should never look that wounded, least of al because of him. So, Dean went. He sat in his usual seat and tried to act normal._

_Cain didn't waste any time with formalities or small talk. Instead, he launched right into his usual rants._  
  
_"It's just not natural!" He barked, riled up like a dog salivating at the end of his chain, stabbing his steak and sawing it apart with his knife. "Zach, we live in a town that throws pride parades, for God's sake! The...the backwardness of this place just makes my skin crawl. It's not natural, it's wrong. There is only one sexuality acceptable in His eyes, no question about it." Cain stuffed the piece of meat into his mouth and  chewed it with an intensity that honestly made Dean cringe. The preacher's blue eyes scanned the table. "You kids ever go against that, you'll all be disowned, understood?"_  
  
_The table chorused a unanimous, "Yes sir!" Including Castiel, even if his head bowed and he poked at his food. When Dean looked over and stared at him, he avoided his gaze and flinched. When Dean claimed to be feeling sick and needed to go home early that day at dinner, no one blinked. No one noticed him turn green after Cain's rant, or that when Castiel got up to walk him home, Dean stiffened, eyes turning hard. They didn't see him cringe when Cain gripped his shoulder in a caring motion and told him to get well soon._

_Side by side, the two walked across the field, far enough away from each other that it felt like a canyon. Dean's stomach spun like a washing machine, hot ad fast and heavy and he felt nauseous. Castiel cleared his throat, but the Winchester spoke first. "I can't do this anymore."_

_The Novak stopped walking, and Dean turned, felt his chest turn hollow. He knew what he was saying, and he knew it hurt Cas, but this hurt him, too. It wasn't okay, the things Cain said and spoke of, and though he'd tolerated it for three years by that point, it'd become personal, and he wasn't able to be a deaf ear any longer.  Because, the thing was, Castiel had met Rufus, who was very unapologetic in his "non-straightness," as he called it. Who had told stories of his husband before he died. Who still wore a wedding ring on his finger._  
  
_He'd seen Dean's pictures posing with Benny and Garth and Jo at pride parade, grinning at the camera with arms linked over shoulders, proudly sporting different types of pride colors. He'd seen the "Straight Ally" banner he and Benny held proudly in another picture.  He knew. He knew and he said nothing, kept agreeing with his father and kept going on as if this didn't effect him, effect Dean._

_"Can't do what anymore?" Castiel asked, and there was a small leak of anger in his words, shoulders hunched. "You're not doing anything."_

_"You know what I mean," Dean snapped. "How are you so okay with him talking like that, Cas? People going to hell, simply for liking dicks instead of chicks, you're okay with that?! Why?"_

_"Because I have to be, Dean! All of them are my family, my only safe place! And their beliefs are mine by default!" Dean recoiled like he'd been struck, but Castiel kept going. "I don't have a choice here. I told you that from the very beginning, this is how my family is. You know this. Why are you suddenly acting like it applies to you personally? I don't -"_

_"Because it does!" The Winchester hissed, words whipped out like a blade, sharp and certain and unforgiving. Silence. They both froze, eyes wide. Shit, shit, shit. Too late now. Dean swallowed, straightened from his defensive curl. "Because it does," he repeated, quieter, firmer, squaring his shoulders. He recovered, "It always has. You know that. Rufus, Jo, Benny. It has always applied to me, Cas, Ive just stood silent for too fucking long about it and not said anything about it when I should have. Cain' s homophobic speeches aren't okay, not at all, and you sit there and agree with him like your best friend's family isn't part of the group he condemns." Dean stepped into his friend's space, heart in his throat, hammering hard and fast. His words start speeding up, tripping over each other. "What if I'm gay, or bi, or whatever? Am I going to hell, too, then? Does that suddenly make me a damnation on Earth?" He pressed forward again, made the other boy back up. "I don't know your beliefs, and I don't claim to. I walked into this friendship knowing what your family thought, I get that. But I'm done sitting around letting you play both sides of the field. You need to figure out which side you're on, Cas, cause I honestly can't tell anymore."_

_"Dean..." Castiel had gone pale in the night's shadows, skin white and eyes burning blue fire. He'd lost his fuel, looked shaken to the core of his being, wide-eyed and afraid. Dean shook his head, shoved his hands in his pockets and turned away. He couldn't stand that look on his face, hated that he had to do this. Hated that it took this long._

_But he'd admitted it, at least. Whatever happened, he knew they wouldn't be the same after this. He knew it wouldn't be long before it came out altogether. At least now he could stand in pride._

_"Nah, man. Forget it." He took a deep breath and started toward the house. "I'm done."_

_"Dean, wait!" Castiel called, but it fell on deaf ears and the Winchester didn't react. He stalked across the field with squared shoulders and a raised chin. He went home and tossed up everything he'd eaten that day and a few things he was sure he'd never had, but it had nothing to do with food poisoning like Bobby had suggested._  
  
Get well soon, _Cain had said. But Dean wasn't sure that he_ could. 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

Seeing his surrogate father after the last words they shared - which cut like blades and burned like salt and lemon juice in wounds, which ached like growing pains and knawed at him like a hungry stray dog with a bone - is hard. He's aged, lines in his face like they'd been carved there, his mouth firm and weathered, eyes tired and worn. He opens the door and a hundred emotions flit past his face too fast to decipher. Dean's feeling a little unsteady again, stomach vaulting like he's on a roller coaster. His shoulders hunch, and he shoves his hands in his pockets and tries not to feel like he's sixteen again. 

"You _idjit_ ," Bobby says, eyes getting shiny and voice cracking, hand cupping Dean's neck. "You _fool_ ," he continues, and pulls Dean in for a hard hug that the Winchester returns with enthusiasm, arms tight and fisted in his jacket. "Would it have killed you to _call?_ "

"Sorry, Bobby," Dean manages into his shoulder. "Didn't know if I was allowed." He swallows, reluctant to pull away, but when he does, they both give themselves a minute to compose. It's _hard_ seeing him again, after three years of silence and two years and burning words that left scars. It's _hard_ and it's _good_ and Dean feels sick with it, the difficulty and the sheer _relief_ that washes through him. 

" _Allowed_ ," Bobby snorts. "Like I've ever been able to tell you what to do, idjit."

Dean smiles, a little watery and a little wobbly, but it's there. Even the name-calling is bitingly familiar and he swallows back the ache of hearing it again. To know that it's still okay. To know that maybe he didn't burn every bridge he had here over one fucked up person. To know he's still got family, and that they didn't go away when he made his mistakes.

It matters even more than he thought it would. 

*~*~*~*~*

_Castiel tormented himself for weeks after that night in the field. The Winchester was right, after all - how could someone as brave, selfless, bright, amazing as Dean was, how could he possibly be condemned? Someone as protective and courageous as Jo surely couldn't be wrong in His eyes, could she? And Rufus, who was gruff and as rough as sandpaper but would give the shirt off his back without blinking, could he really be given the same sentence?_

_Castiel went back and forth time and time again. Stuck. Unsure. Wavering. Were Chain's beliefs truly his, simply because they were family? Could he honestly agree with him?_

_The answer came when Cain finally noticed Dean's absence, a full month after Dean left_

_"Where's that Winchester boy? He never misses weekend supper here."_

_Everyone was quiet. None of them truly liked Dean, but a few tolerant of them and Castiel's friendship with him. Gabriel, who was bordering on disowned and out of the closet as Pan, spared a look towards Castiel and the other Novak shook his head. The blonde was the only sibling who understood and knew everything that had happened so far. When he learned about the fight in the field, Gabriel was disappointed, and his brother is ashamed._

_"He's busy at the farm," Cas said after a moment. "Its getting cold and horses need more maintaince in the winter." Lies. Safety._

_Cain grunted. "He's been pretty flaky coming over lately. When is he going to start up again?"_

_"He's busy," is the repeated answer, though a bit more forceful. Defensive, not for himself, but for Dean. Always._

_"Huh. Well maybe that's a good thing. You know, I let that friendship go because you have a good head on your shoulders, but after seeing Turner and the Harvilles at the Pride parade -" Cain shook his head. "You should stay away from him from now on, Castiel. That's a bad crowd. They'll contaminate you."_

_Castiel' s lip twitched in a silent snarl. Gabriel's stare was warning_ , _tense_ , don't, you're not ready, wait for a little longer,  _heavy with it, and it went on ignored. "They're_ good people," _he said, low and tight and angry. Everyone froze. A battle was brewing and they knew it._

 _"Good people?" His father asked, and then laughed._  "Good people? _Castiel, they're abominations! They're_ sick! _Have they tainted your mind already?" Cains pale blue eyes turned dark and angry. "Stay away from them. That's an order."_

_Gabriel tried to catch Castiel's gaze, tried to grab at his wrist. Anything to protect him a little longer._

_Pick your side, Dean had said. Cas' face flushed and his teeth clenched. His heart beat rapidly in his throat. Say okay, agree, and you live to see another day._

_But he couldn't do it. He stopped agreeing with Cain when he met Dean, as the Winchester threw points after valid points over the three years they'd  known each other._

_"No."_

*~*~*~*~*

Bobby's gaze when he tells him he's going to the farm can only be described as warning. "I'm not sure that's such a great idea, Dean," He says, and Dean frowns.

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"Well, it ain't been touched in three years, for starters. No one's really been keeping on the place, either. Your brother's only done the bare minimum of maintenance around the place, so I'm sure it needs work. I'm honestly surprised it's still running at all, what with the bills and the boarding being the only thing it's used for. But other than that, you just got back into town. Are you sure you want dive head first into everything?" His eyes are narrowed, contemplating his reaction and he has to fight not to clench his teeth. 

"Come on, Bobby," he doesn't whine, he doesn't, but it's a close thing. "I'll be fine. I'm only here for a little while. Gabriel needed some backup with Cain's funeral, so I figured..." He swallows. "I thought it might be a good idea to see everyone and prove I'm better now, see how everyone is doing." He looks down at his water bottle, wishes silently for a possibility of something a little stronger. "I have a few bridges that I need to fix."

"No, you don't," Jo says, and her voice holds no room for argument here. "You hit a bad patch, got out of town to pick up your pieces, and you came back. That's all we wanted." She grips his shoulder, digs her nails into his skin hard. "But I don't ever want to see it happen again, you understand me?"

"Ah," he grunts, buckling his shoulder under the sharp stinging, "Yeah, no, I got it, I got it!" He's released, and he rubs the area with a sour look. He'd have indents for at least a day. Jo smiles, and it's not one bit friendly, all teeth and warning, and Dean cowers, backing away slowly. 

"Anyhow," he coughs, "I should probably get going. I'm exhausted. I'll see you guys tomorrow, right? After the get-together?"

"Not anywhere around the Novaks, you won't," Bobby tells him gruffly. "Gabriel and Michael being the exceptions, we don't cross paths with that family anymore. Not after what they did to you. Religious bastards, the lot of them."

 Dean's lip quirks. "I'll come over after, then. Dinner at the Roadhouse with everyone?" His eyes slide to Ellen. "Maybe get Sammy and his fiance and Gabriel over here too, get some time in with everyone?"

She nods. "I'll do the shopping tonight. Burgers and fries and apple pie."

"Awesome," Dean grins. "I'll see you then." They bid goodbyes and Dean takes a breath before starting the route to the farm. Memories be damned, he was going to get through this, goddamn it.

*~*~*~*~*

 


End file.
